


Losing Track

by bunniewabbit



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-01
Updated: 2009-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniewabbit/pseuds/bunniewabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's sort of weird how Spencer never gets tired of looking at Brendon.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Track

 

"Man, the waves _killed_ today," Brendon says for perhaps the third time. Spencer's lost track, but he doesn't care because he's feeling fuzzy and content, too warm from his slight sunburn, but just... buffered and happy. Plus, he agrees with Brendon, and lets him know with a grin and a slow blink of his eyelids.

Learning to surf might just be the best idea they've had in a long, long time.

Wait -- no: smoking up is definitely the _very_ best idea they've had in... Well, since last night. But, then, Spencer's pretty sure that he thinks that every time he smokes up. He's sort of lost track of that, too.

Brendon has perfectly good furniture, but they're sprawled on the living room floor, Brendon on his back with his shoulders propped up against the front of the sofa, Spencer on his stomach, chin in his hands, his elbows starting to get that scraped feeling from digging into the carpet for too long. It's not a pressing concern, though, so Spencer just drifts a bit and watches Brendon do the same thing.

It's sort of weird how Spencer never gets tired of looking at Brendon. Usually, when he gets to know someone really well, and they become really familiar, he sort of stops paying attention to what they look like. Not that he stops looking at them, or anything, but Brendon is the only one that he still finds himself watching for extended periods of time.

Spencer huffs out a long breath, wondering just what it is about Brendon that makes him keep looking. He lets his eyes wander over Brendon's features and catches the heavy-lidded brown eyes sliding over to the pipe and back to Spencer. "You want another?" Brendon asks, drumming his fingers on his flat belly.

Spencer contemplates.

"Nah, I'm good," he says eventually. Then, not to seem selfish: "Unless _you_ wanna."

"Actually," Brendon says, his tongue sneaking out and licking at his lower lip, "I'm considering a beer."

Spencer's eyes snag on Brendon's mouth, now wet from Brendon's tongue, and how many times has Spencer found himself staring at that goddamned mouth over the years? Talk about losing track.

Thumping the floor with his fist, Brendon says, decisively, "I'm gonna have a 'Rona. You want one, too?"

Want. Is that what he wants? Spencer frowns and watches Brendon's lips stretch sideways into a smirk.

"Spennn-cerrrrr," Brendon sing-songs.

Spencer licks his own lips and thinks, _Fuck it._

He drags himself over to Brendon, walking his elbows across the carpet. Brendon's expression doesn't shift away from a lazy grin until Spencer is practically breathing the same air, and then Brendon's eyebrows creep up, wrinkling his forehead. "Spence?" he says, sounding curious.

Spencer realizes that Brendon's freckles are a lot more noticeable than they were before he started spending so much time on the beach. He looks tan, with a slight tinge of rosy color high on his cheekbones that Spencer is not sure came from the sun. He glances down at Brendon's full, pink lips, then up at his eyes, and says, "Hey," because he feels like he should say _something_ before he just...

Brendon makes a startled noise as Spencer leans in and presses his own lips to Brendon's, lingering long enough to feel the soft give and silky texture, longer than might be easily laughed off, long enough that he's actually surprised when he feels Brendon's hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.

"Spencer, I. You. We," Brendon stutters, looking perplexed. His eyes search Spencer's face, maybe pausing on Spencer's mouth for just a moment, and then he frowns. "Fuck it," he blurts and digs his fingers into the folds of Spencer's t-shirt, hauling him forward and into another kiss, one that's fierce and certain.

At the first tentative touch of Brendon's tongue to his lips, Spencer starts to giggle.

Brendon smiles against his mouth. "What?" he asks as Spencer pulls back slightly.

"You said 'fuck it,' too," Spencer tells him and giggles again, feeling too lazy to explain. Spencer sees Brendon's eyebrows go up just before his universe rotates sideways and he finds himself gaping up at Brendon, who is stretched out and pinning Spencer to the carpet with all his weight and looking very smug.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Brendon says, his voice low ( _sex voice_ , Spencer thinks, skin prickling everywhere) as his palms press Spencer's wrists down. "But, first, I think maybe you should actually kiss me properly, you tease."

Spencer strains upward as Brendon leans down, moaning when he feels Brendon's mouth already open and seeking, sucking in a breath at the first touch of Brendon's tongue, slick and warm against his own. It occurs to him that he's not kissing Brendon so much as Brendon's kissing him, but he's not bothered. It feels good, feels right, pinned the way he is under Brendon. It doesn't matter that he could force Brendon off of him with just a little effort; in fact, he realizes with a sudden clarity through the blur of his high that he would probably let Brendon do just about anything to him that he wanted to. Something kindles low in his belly, feeding off the heat of Brendon's skin, and Spencer shivers, groaning into Brendon's mouth as Brendon chooses that moment to push his tongue in deeper.

When they finally break apart, they're both breathing pretty hard and Spencer's dick aches inside his jeans. Brendon's eyes are very dark as he unwraps his fingers from around Spencer's wrists and pushes himself up, straddling Spencer's hips. Spencer doesn't move, missing the pressure of Brendon's hands.

"Look, I hate to be practical," Brendon says, the word making his mouth twist in distaste, "but, maybe we should be sober before we decide whether to take this any farther."

Spencer makes a petulant noise, and Brendon smirks, but his eyes are soft. Looking helplessly up at Brendon, Spencer is overheated, nearly vibrating with want, and Brendon feels so _good_ pressing down on him. There is an unmistakable, hard line pushing at the denim of Brendon's jeans, and Spencer rolls his hips just slightly, lifting Brendon and dropping him back down. "Fuck it...?" Spencer asks hopefully.

Brendon laughs breathlessly. "You are _not_ being helpful," he scolds, failing to sound as stern as he's obviously trying to be.

"But I want to be," Spencer nearly whines. "I'm a helpful guy." And to prove it, he lifts his hips higher, watching Brendon's eyes drop shut as his mouth falls open. _Damn_.

"No," Brendon says, voice gruff and almost to himself. "No, no, no." He starts to rise and Spencer sits up quickly, fingers catching Brendon's wrist.

"Wait," he gasps out. "Can't we just... make out a little more?" Great -- now he sounds desperate, and Brendon is eyeing him warily. "Okay, okay. I won't push, but..." He sighs loudly. "Could you maybe just kiss me again?" Desperate and _needy._

Brendon answers by leaning in and fitting his lips to Spencer's, briefly twining their tongues together, his palm warm where it curves around Spencer's jaw. He's smiling when he pulls back, his fingers combing lightly through Spencer's beard. "Now, beer or bowl?" he asks, lifting himself up off Spencer's lap.

"Beer, I guess," Spencer replies, suddenly distrustful of their latest stash of weed.

"'Kay," Brendon says brightly, bounding out of the room.

Pulling himself up onto the sofa, Spencer rubs at his face. He still feels sort of bleary and high, his lips tingling and his body still buzzing with arousal, and he's sort of sad that he never even managed to touch any of Brendon's skin. Brendon's skin always looks so smooth, and why didn't he think to touch it while they were kissing?

Suddenly Brendon's absence from the room is sharp and uncomfortable. Shit. _Shit_ \-- he was just kissing Brendon.

Spencer promptly freaks out.

He's sitting there, rigid and with his fingers twisted tightly together, when Brendon returns with a lime-stuffed bottle in each hand. He hands one to Spencer with a grin and drops onto the sofa, smacking Spencer loudly on the cheek before throwing his legs over Spencer's lap.

Spencer starts to breathe again. It's okay; it's going to be okay. Brendon thunks his bottle down onto the end table, grabs the remote and starts flipping through channels. His free hand finds Spencer's and laces their fingers together loosely.

Definitely okay. Spencer lets his lungs expand and relax, and tightens his grip on Brendon's fingers, just a little.  


 

* * * * * * *


End file.
